Chapter 25: Outfoxed
The sun was rising in the south end of the country of Mossflower, but the once beautiful hills and forests were deathly silent. Villages lay abandoned, and not even the sound of birds could be heard. A small group of vermin were marching at a fast pace through the southern hills, looking awkwardly in various directions. They were looking for hares, and feared what would happen if the Long Patrol caught them. Their leader, Olan Krepter, looked less than thrilled. It had been over a week since he had been in the hills, and it wasn't long till the Long Patrol discovered Nurf's circus of atrocity. The hares, in their spite and hatred, were tracking Olan and Nurf. Olan felt partly lucky that Nurf's crew of idiots were not skilled as he and the black clads were, as Olan had one of his crew sweep their trail while Nurf did not. The scouts reported back to him often on the movements of both Nurf and a Long Patrol division which was quickly closing the distance. Only Olan's forced marching and preparations had kept the group alive, as one wrong move would lead them into a quick and bloody massacre.
Olan however was worried, even confused. One of his scouts came back, huffing and nearly out of breath.
"Spotted Nurf, sir. Doesn' look like he is changing course. Nearly ran into a Long Patrol scout, but they are catching up to him."
"How many? The hares?"
"12. Enough to massacre Nurf's warband or us if they see us."
Olan breathed in a heavy sigh "I don't like it. Isn't like Nurf to be this reckless. Be on yer guard, the last thing we need is Nurf pulling one of his tricks on us."
The group continued at their pace till they stopped in a heavy forested clearing. Once confident that the hares were no longer a problem, Olan ordered his guard to immediately go to sleep and to eat rations in their beds. It was undignified, but it wasn't nothing new to Olan or his cadre of marauders. Olan only partly knew where he was going, and looked out into the far off stars of the night sky, cursing to himself. I'm gonna kill that fox one of these days.
_
Nosrig Bowthief and his siblings were heading far out into the wilderness, their small squirrel captives having no idea what their intentions truly were. The fox and his siblings looked like common bandits, but it was Nosrig who looked more mature. A bow slung to his back, and his brother and sister prodding the youngsters forward, the foxes and squirrels took misbegotten paths far into the wilderness. The trees darkened and shadows lengthened in the forest, frightening the three small squirrel children. Marig only gave slight comfort to their terror "This place ain't nothen to get afraid of, ya yung louts! Come on, get!" The squirrels were reluctant to obey, but Nosrig would pause to help them climb the hills and tiny rocky cliffs which led up and up. Eventually, the group made its way to their destination, a large clearing of light just as it was getting dark.
The squirrels looked around in terror and amazement at what they were beholding. It was a large fox colony, 10 or 20 members in total all encamped around a clearing full of small torches and shabby tents. Two of the foxes were on guard, wielding little more then stolen swords and watching out over the wilderness, but a small wooden merchant cart that was converted into a cozy living quarter crowned the camp. One fox amongst them stood out, a large and graying fox, with baggy eyes and smoking a pipe too small for him was sitting at the edge of a campfire. He looked up weakly as Nosrig who came over and whispered into his ear. The elder fox nodded and called over to Marig "Give those three drink an' food, will ya me dearest? Gamig, Zaig. Grab some left over blankets." The foxes did as their elder commanded and said nothing to the squirrels as they were tended to. The eldest of them was confused. His father told him of the cruelty of foxes, their treachery, and was cautious towards their kindness.
The elder huffed on his pipe and looked up as Nosrig "Are you sure? Nurf is here?"
"Aye, saw his handiwork meself, but worse yet, those three be frightened of a fox who trudged through here. I know it wasn't one of us, not unless der be another bandit." There was an angry murmur amongst the other foxes.
"A shame. Nurf is no fool, I know for certain. Nosrig, I want you to take a message to that ol' wretch Numbat. Tell him I wish to trade, and tell him Nurf is here."
Nosrig nodded "I'd like to stay for the night, its been a long march Pa."
"Bah, lazy cretan. Do it, but I don't wish to see you in the morning." The elder complained. Nosrig obliged and entered the merchant wagon. The foxes enjoyed their meal as the three squirrels sat in silence, eating and looking about in caution. The elder looked down sadly at them and spoke.
"You three will sleep in the wagon. Don't try to steal any of me things, or bother me ever incompetent family, an ya will be kept safe."
The eldest squirrel spoke up "I. . .I don't understand, pa said ya folk are vermin. Why do you treat us like this."
The elder looked nostalgic and smiled "If I was a lot younger, i'd give ya a proper vermin welcome I would, but age an' stress be a slow and insidious killa. Now don't be speaken much either, or I might just feed ya to ol' Nurf."
The young squirrel shut himself up, looking on with terror. The elder gave a short chuckle to himself, and then coughed loudly. Ah, if only I was younger. I miss those ol' days.
_
Morning came to the fox camp, as the squirrels slowly arose. Their beds were a bundle of small towels, ripped blankets, and a mix of larger blankets which acted as pillows. The smell in the wagon was awful, and clutter was everywhere. The eldest of the youngsters kept staring at a large curved sword, for which hung a linen cap that had dust upon it. A bow was also intermingled with it, but its owner had long since passed from the world. As the squirrels awoke, the foxes were arguing and laughing outside. The youngest found himself looking with fright at his brother "What you think he gonna do wit us?"
"I don't know. I wish I knew. Maybe if we keep silent dey won't notice us." This was the only thing the young squirrel could think of, as the group slowly came outside together. The three were greeted by Marig, who looked drunk.
"Ya young lazy layabouts, come to der fire for yer breakfast, eh!" Marig swiged down what looked like a dusty bottle of. . .something. The squirrels came to the campfire, and were given a small but pitiful breakfast of some of the most sorry looking pancakes they had ever seen. Yet, the foxes were gobbling it up like cake, and were making all manner of rude jokes to one another.
"Ya should have seen it pa, that mouse looked like ya an' mom when Barig came back wit that skeleton, an' kissen it fer good measure!"
"I did not kiss it ya dope! Yer the one looking longingly at it, ya flea bitten face muncher!"
"Yer insults Barig is as good as yer breakfast maken!" The elder said "Ya need to get better ones me useless waste of space!"
"Insult quality yerself, pa!"
The squirrels ate their breakfast with peace, realizing that the foxes didn't care much for their presence it seemed. Only Marig chided them from time to time. As the group continued, one fox who was standing guard came over to the elder and whispered in his ear. The elder's joyful attitude shifted into a grim frown. He gave a long look at the squirrels and spoke up.
"Ya lot, grab yer weapons. Marig, get dem young'uns into the cart." Marig was unsure, but obeyed. Grabbing the young squirrels, she fled into the cart, but all four looked out from it, curious as to why the sudden change in attitude. Then the squirrels realized why, a cold shiver went down their backs, as Nurf Bloodkeep and his gang strode into the camp in a friendly manner. That friendliness was cut off when the foxes jabbed their weapons forward, keeping the gang back as Nurf suicidally came forward with friendly abandon.
"Mates an' friends, I couldn't have guessed it better me self that ya chillums an' pretties be out here on this fine morning!"
There was a silence amongst the fox clan who did not answer. The elder had gottem up and moved slowly forward, looking over Nurf and his gang of murderers. Some were carrying black clothes, others bloodied, and their weapons drawn out and cruelly dripping. They also looked exhausted, as if they were running with their large pack.
"What do you want, Nurf." The elder coldly replied.
"I was followen what looked be a fox an' his mates, o elder. I was following the young ones they carried. Yes, yes I was." Nurf outstretched his arms, one of his knives on one. When he approached, one of the foxes held up a spear to him which made the murderous vermin keep back.
"Answer me, Nurf, or begone from me. I don't deal with degenerates."
"I like that word, ya know, 'degenerate'. It makes me feel more an' more like an artist or painter, really. Yes, It does. I am just here for the pretties, I am. I know you have em'. I know you keep them. They tell me, o elder. They tell me good."
The other foxes looked to their elder, confused by what Nurf was going on about. The elder only huffed and took a puff of his pipe. "I care not for you or your 'gang', Nurf. You can bugger off with the rest of your doomed kin."
"Why protect em, o elder bandit. I rememberen when ya were just a good ol' bandit yerself an I was the pretty. I remember all too well, eh? How is yer missus of l-" Nurf didn't finish his sentence as the other foxes surged forward a little, angry at his sentence. There was a tense standoff as the elder grunted in annoyance. He wasn't bothered, nor insulted. He simply stared into Nurf's eyes, looking disappointed at him.
"I gave up dat life, Nurf. It ain't brought me nothin but a limp of trouble, it did. Now get off me land, wretch, or I will have ya strung up an' laid out for the hares to do away with ya."
Nurf smiled "A gift then, me ol' chief." The murderous Nurf came over to the vermin carrying the black clothes and rolled it into a pile at the feet of the other foxes. No one moved as Nurf backed away, his voice reaching to a new height "I hope to meet ya again, o elder! I hope we meet in this life or der next!" Nurf gave a wide and mortifying smile as the gang disappeared beyond the woods. The elder looked to his family and muttered.
"Two of ya follow, and keep yer bows trained on that wretch. I want him out of me land in the hour."
Eskert was moving at the front of the group, and his friend and companion Lufan was far in the back. Lufan looked terrified and depressed, worse off then the others, his eyes trained on Eskert. Lufan looked for even a little bit of remorse from his friend, but none came, as Eskert was practically humming to himself as if nothing had happened. The group was still far out in the marshes, the vast emptiness of mud and tall grass all around them. They kept an eye out for movement, and ears up for croaks. Loy and Pelo were none the wiser, told by Eskert that the vermin fled in the night. The truth had been more simple, Eskert buried the body all alone, all the while Lufan argued and chided him in silence. Lufan had no heart to tell Loy what had happened, and feared for Pelo who was still struggling himself. The only thing that cheered him up was that their escape had gone well.
In the night, the four woodlanders were camping out, eating what little they could scavenge. Loy was lucky to catch a couple small minos, but the small fish were not very filling. Eskert was quick to go out himself, to grab something or anything from the marshes.
"Perhaps I should go as well." Lufan spoke up.
"No, it won't be necessary." Eskert quickly retorted. Eskert already knew why Lufan wanted to go. The hedgehog's eyes narrowed at Eskert.
"I insist. Friend."
Eskert looked around, with Loy and Pelo unsure of what was really going on. Eskert relented and pretended nothing was wrong "Of course, Lufan. Perhaps we can double our effort, but you should get rest."
Lufan was already up and about, and the two went off into the wilderness, keeping an eye out for the frogs and other enemies who may be lurking nearby. Once far enough from the camp, Lufan was already unleashing his well prepared speech on Eskert.
"How long are you going to keep this up, Eskert!" Lufan angrily said in a quiet tone. "You murdered that poor thing, and for what!"
"He would have turned on us eventually." Eskert icely retorted "Lufan, you know what that vermin would have done to us? He would have sold us out to another for little more than a taste of food. No matter where they come from, or what happens to them, they are all the same. They are murderers and slavers all, and if I allowed it to live, it would have given away our position."
"That is no excuse to murder him. You and I both know wha-"
"They murdered my family, my village, Lufan."
"That stout murdered your village, Eskert?! Do you even listen to yourself!"
Eskert stopped and angrily sneered "Don't tell me what I did was wrong Lufan. You weren't there! What they did to my. . .my wife. My children. It was abominable. Wrong. Evil. That is what the vermin are, a manifestation of evil in this world, and one less doesn't change much, but in fact I'd even say it improves the world at large. They don't farm, they force others to do so. They don't build, they destroy. They don't live, they take the lives of others. That is what they all do, from the day they are children to when they grow old! They despise us, Lufan. They hate us for no other reason because we succeed where they fail."
Lufan gave a retort of his own "Would you kill every vermin there is, Eskert? Even their children?"
Eskert did not answer, which was all the answer Lufan needed. Eskert turned and went his own way, scavenging for food, leaving Lufan to his thoughts. I am sorry my friend. I wish I was there when you needed it most.
_
Loy normally liked water, when his Pa used to help him swim and his mother cheered him when he did tricks in the water. Even in the captivity of Gandal, Loy could find some rest in a simple bucket of water that washed his face of the grime and dirt, the dew of the grass calmed him.
Then he really began to hate it.
The group trudged through mud and dirt, hungry and exhausted. They had been wandering for a few days, but all directions were more marshes, more swamps, and the chorus of insects all around them. The watery mud at their feet was draining, and all of them felt sore. Eskert tried to pretend he was fine, but in reality he could barely keep himself from being miserable. As the group went forward, marching, Pelo called out in joyous amazement.
"Look! Beyond the mist! Look!" Pelo pointed. In the distance, the hills and forests of Mossflower were barely visible. The group looked up, their dreary demeanor finally coming back to life as they began to jump with excitement. "Good seasons, hard ground is near!" Loy was practically rushing forward through the grass itself, but as he was making his way, he heard a loud and bloated croak. The group stopped and turned in its direction, it was a far ways back, but they could see tall grass being parted like a wave. Fear overcame them as Eskert pulled Pelo and Lufan to him "Find a place to hide, we cannot outpace or outrun them." Eskert looked around, unable to see Loy. He gripped his new sword and worry overcame him.
"W-wheres Loy?"
"He went up ahead!" Pelo said horrified. Loy's movement was silent, and none could hear him. Eskert could only guess where he was, and that the otter was smart enough to have heard the loud croak. The group dived into some marshy low waters, and moved between some thicker grass. Eskert whispered to the group. "Stay here, I will go find Loy."
Loy himself was nearby, although as soon as he heard the croak he got his head down to the ground. Loy began to move amongst the grasses and hid as best he could, but could not tell if he was hiding well. He was looking all around for signs of Eskert and others, but could not see any. The otter shifted back and forth, unsure if he was making noise or not. The croaking got louder and the otter panicked and dipped into some murky water, looking up above the surface and peering all around. The croaking stopped, and his heart began to race. Loy began to feel something on his legs and looking down into the water, he looked horrified as small black figures swam around him and towards him. He realized a bit too late as several leeches were all too eager to pounce on him. Terror swelled as Loy got quickly out of the water with a splash, and the croaking was heard again.
Loy silently, or the best he could, began to pry the leeches from his feet and agonized over it. He never had to deal with such monsters before, and tearing them from his foot made him grit his teeth in pain. Once the last one was removed, he looked around and did not hear the frogs and toads. He was relieved, but only for a moment. The grass in front of him parted, and an all too familiar frog peered back. The red painted frog, or 'Red' as he called him stared back and gave an evil smile. Loy knew he was had, but he would not be caught and tried to slide away, only to bump up against another group of frogs.
There were six in total, as they surrounded Loy. Loy shouted "I won't be taken alive, monsters! I am Loy Watertrot, and I will not be put in captivity again!" Loy held up his paws, but the frogs lowered their tridents at him. 'Red' hopped forward with a loud crack to the group and stood to meet Loy.
"Nowb morb chanbses. Youb come back aliveb or dead. Surrenber and you willb work, butb it is allb the same tob me."
Loy made his choice and stood his ground. Before the frogs could strike, one let out a loud yelp of pain as he fell over dead, Eskert standing over the corpse. Having snuck around the group, he raised his sword in a defensive position and called out to 'Red'. "You vermin won't take us down that easily! Loy, defend yourself!" Eskert charged into one frog as Loy was pounced on by 'Red'. The large frog nearly overpowered him, but Loy clawed into his exposed throat which made the larger creature back off quickly. Another frog took its chance, hopping onto Loy, but the otter had grabbed onto some mud and threw it into his eye and pushed him away.
Eskert dueled three other frogs at once, and had some experience battling them. The frogs for their part had no such experience battling Eskert. They would use their tridents to mow forward and try to catch the mouse in a charge, but Eskert would nimbly dodge and have the frogs charge into the brush instead, slowing their advance. Eskert would swing his sword in a wide range, catching one frog in the arm. It was a game of who could devastate the other with injuries before the frogs impaled him, and Eskert was clearly winning.
Loy struggled a bit as 'Red' and the other frog closed in fast. Before the other frog could strike, he was struck softly by some mud. Lufan and Pelo stood in the distance from the battle, trying to come to the aid of their friends. Pelo looked around desperately for stones, but could only find small pebbles. 'Red' angrily began to hop at Loy, croaking out orders at his subordinates. Loy dodged barely in time when 'Red' thrusted his trident forward. The frog angrily began to slam his webbed fist into the ground, trying to land some hit on the otter. Loy was faster, but eventually 'Red' caught up to him and slammed his trident onto Loy's tail. Loy yelped in pain, as he grabbed for anything in sight that could help him. Loy saw the fallen frog's trident in front of him, picked it up, and lobbed it at 'Red'. The frog lifted his massive trident up in time to catch Loy's desperate attempt to slay him, smacking it aside.
Loy began to crawl backwards, his eyes fixed on 'Red'. His tail hurting horribly, he gritted his teeth as 'Red' began to raise his trident to slay the otter. Loy lept under the massive frog as the trident crashed down. The red painted frog looked behind him, only to see why Loy had done so. The exhausted otter slid into the smacked aside trident, hoisted it again, and threw. 'Red' was not quick enough, as the trident embedded into his shoulder. Loy was enthused by the small victory, but it was short lived. 'Red' pulled out the trident quickly and threw it back at Loy, who dived to avoid it. 'Red' grunted in annoyance, seeing the otter get up and stare at him.
"I willb tear youb limb fromb limb." 'Red' angrily growled, and began to charge forward.
This time, Loy was not quick enough.
The frog launched himself and the otter into a nearby clearing, the damaged otter laid without much motion on the ground. Taking into a hopping position, 'Red' turned and greedily smiled. He seemed impressed by the woodlander's bravery, it reminded him a little of his brother. Yet, it would not matter to him, as he hopped forward to finally finish Loy off. From the grass however, Pelo came forward with a large stick and caught 'Red' by surprise. His subordinate had failed to finish off the other two, and realized his mistake as Pelo rammed the branch into his chest.
It wasn't a clear strike, and the branch broke upon impact, but the injury to 'Red' was severe. The frog leaped back, grasping its chest and twitching wildly. It croaked out as Pelo dared not approach the large frog who was sputtering on the ground in front of him. He came up to Loy, making sure he was alive. Pelo was relieved when Loy opened his eyes weakly and mumbled to himself.
From the grass, several frogs jumped out, but not to reinforce their chief. Two hopped away at quick speed, much to Pelo's relief. Eskert emerged, victorious but bloodied by the whole affair. He saw 'Red' on the ground, slowing his pained spasms. Lufan emerged shortly thereafter, a bit proud of himself for having thrown enough mud to slow and disable a frog. When Lufan saw Loy's condition, he came over and tried to see if he can help.
"Poor lad, stay still." Lufan began to tear up part of his shirt and wrap it around Loy's tail. "Your poor rudder will get an infection we don't get out of this marsh! Eskert. . .help me. . .Eskert?"
Eskert was not listening. He slowly glided over to 'Red' who was slowly recovering. The large frog looked up, knowing full well he was beaten. 'Red' was staring into the mouse's eyes, his sword pointed down at his throat. 'Red' had never seen the eyes of a woodlander be so blank, so spiteful towards him. He understood such feelings well enough, but what he saw in Eskert gave a shiver of doubt to the large frog. Eskert thought for a moment and raised his sword, ready to plunge it in 'Red'.
"Eskert! Stop!" Lufan cried, and rushed over. Lufan grabbed the mouse and held him back. Eskert yelled out "Lufan! Stop! Get off of me, I need to do this! Stop!" The scuffle was all 'Red' needed. He got back up and began hopping away for his life. Not bothering to turn around for either his weapon or to see what would happen to them. He hopped hard and fast, away from the group.
_
It was night, and Loy was sleeping more soundly. Pelo kept close to him, as Lufan and Eskert were out, looking for specific herbs. Lufan didn't speak, except to himself, as Eskert followed closely. The group attempted to arm themselves with the fallen frog's weapons, but each of them found them too bulky to use on their own, and settled for sharpened sticks. Eskert spent much of the day in exhaustion, sharpening whatever wood he could find. Loy and Pelo had lost their daggers in the fighting, with Pelo having thrown his into the frog attempting to chase down him and Lufan. Loy had no chance to use his dagger, not having realized it fell into the water he was hiding in. Pelo guarded Loy like a hawk, although his own health was terrible itself.
Eskert and Lufan were farther than usual from the camp, as neither spoke to one another, holding each other in utter contempt. Once the closest of companions, both felt they were next to a vile stranger. It was Eskert who spoke up first, breaking the silence.
"What you did was stupid, Lufan."
"What you tried to do was monstrous, Eskert."
Eskert was utterly beside himself. "Do you even half realize what those frogs intended to do with us? What he tried to do with that otter?! Lufan, you may as well doom us all if he decides to bring back his vile kin to end us."
"He was beaten Eskert, bleeding at best. You were going to strike him down not because he was a danger, but because you are becoming quite monstrous! If Ela-" Lufan stiffed up and sighed. He nearly uttered her name to Eskert who stopped what he was doing.
"Don't you dare bring her into this, Lufan."
"I won't, and I am sorry." Lufan turned to Eskert, sorrow in his voice. "Its just been hard, and its been hard on you too. You need to see that! I don't want to bring you any harm, Eskert, or see you turn into something you ain't! We aren't murderers!"
"It wasn't murder, it was nature as far as I see it." Eskert spat.
"You know full well it isn't. I understand, you want venge-" Eskert cut off Lufan, coming up to him and grabbing the collar of his shirt "You don't understand, Lufan! It wasn't your family, you don't even have one! They are the enemy, and as any enemy they need to be killed or slain like any other. They are evil, they planned to cook us alive or work us to death as a 'mercy'. These aren't woodlanders, Lufan. They are murderers. We don't murder murderers, we slay murderers!"
Lufan looked frightened at Eskert, his eyes full of flame and fury. When Lufan began to whimper, Eskert began to calm. He let go, sitting down in the mud and began to lament. "I'm. . .I'm sorry, Lufan. We should have never been out here. We should have never been here to begin with. None of this feels right. I'm. . ." Eskert looked sadly down at the ground, his head spinning.
Lufan came over, offering his paw to help Eskert up. Eskert took it as Lufan sighed, bringing the mouse back up "I'm just so concerned, Eskert. Let's leave this horrible place. I don't want to lose you too."
Eskert only nodded in agreement, the two friends went back to finding the herbs needed to treat Loy's wounds. Neither spoke to one another for the rest of the night in partial understanding, knowing too much had changed for them to ever return to what they once were.
It was evening in Gandal's camp, and the sun was setting fast. The camp's denizens, vermin and woodlander alike, were being packed into the camp. Of the woodlanders unfortunate enough to be led back into the camp by the overseers, Mela felt partly lucky. The mouse had been with the other logging crews, mostly bringing in kindling for the vermin campfires for much of the day. The work was backbreaking, exhausting, and a single moment of rest was rewarded with a swift lash from Jano's whip. Why Mela found herself lucky was simple, as she had to meet with Tera for but a brief moment as the slaves filed near the camp's kitchens to get whatever gruel the vermin would feed them.
Tera may have been a strong willed squirrel in herself, but the scars and marks on her grew daily. As Mela came to get her food, Mela was weakly sitting down on her own. The woodlanders didn't have much in the way of tables, so most just sat in the camp under the lazy eye of vermin guards who were eating their own meal. Tera came down to Mela to try to comfort her, but there was little she could do.
"Another bad day, I take it?"
"That bloated tyrant may be crippled, but he certainly knows how to hit." Sneered the squirrel. "I am more surprised than hurt, to be honest Tera. Carrying the wretch's food up to him, and listening to his insane commands makes me wonder how long before he just ends me. He certainly threatens me often, I know that for certain."
"Who knows, maybe he'll heal." Mela smiled weakly, although she had hoped Gandal would pass away in his sleep at least. The squirrel gave a rare smile at the comment, but soon frowned and whispered.
"Bad news I am afraid. Gandal be senden out scouts, all over. He speaks openly, not sure if he even thinks I am there. Gandal is rounding up vermin again, a lot of them it sounds like. Not sure if you noticed, but the black clads are practically kidnapping some of the new vermin around here."
Mela had only partly noticed. It was an odd sight when a black clad weasel was hauling a knocked out rat over his shoulder, and another was pushing two younger ferrets into the camp as if they were fellow slaves. Gandal's ambitions were many, but Mela only shrugged "I noticed, but there ain't many. I think there ain't many vermin left for him to conscript into his army. . .not unless he went east."
Tera shivered "I'd hate to think of it. I just hope those Long Patrol pull themselves together! I don't think I can take much more of this."
Mela sighed and the two ate together. A familiar face to Tera came over and stared down at the two, a black clad weasel whose grim and emotionless expression could frighten even bold warriors. He spoke in a thick northern accent "Slavebeast, Gandal requires you, and his food." The weasel kicked Tera's bowl of gruel to the ground, not wishing to wait for her to finish. Tera dared not sigh and got up, as Mela and the others looked on in pity of her. Mela could only hope this hell they had been dragged into would end soon.
_
Gandal was in his tent, pouring over maps and drinking lightly. It was a nostalgic feeling he had since he was younger, a past time he and Kasg would have when it came to planning out their battles, invasions, and conquests. Gandal could practically see his old boss, the black rat staring down at the maps, glaring over pieces and landmarks, making his cold and calculated comments. Gandal remembered all too well as comrades and rivals would bicker over how the battles could be won, arguing over casualties and supply routes. Gandal missed those days terribly, and now he was alone. He hated that he had little left, only a couple divisions of dwindling black clad loyalists, some conscripts, and even fewer slaves. His mind snapped back to the maps as scouts and officers would file in, one by one, to tell them of their progress.
It was adequate.
Gandal's scouts told him there were only so few vermin left to spare, but they reported he was safe. The Long Patrol weren't marching anywhere, anytime soon. Gandal was secretly gleeful that Olan seemed to be doing his job as well as he hoped. The warlord paced, seeing that his position was at least secure, thinking over the past month's events. He was still weak from the crushing blow from his arch enemy, that infernal mole Borbon. Yet he seemed to hop with each step with excitement as his numbers continued to rise. His train of thought ceased when his slavish assistant entered the tent, carrying a large plate tray of delicacies. Tera looked around, looking for a place to set Gandal's food and drink, but could not find any.
"Just set it on the maps, ya half wit." Gandal coldly said. Tera did as Gandal requested, but set the tray much to Gandal's dismay on top of his map of southern Mossflower. Gandal angrily snarled "The other end of the table, ya brain rotted buffoon!" Tera quickly corrected her mistake, fearing another round of cruel beatings by the rat. Gandal smirked, "The fact I lost to ya lot is an embarrassment."
Tera didn't really understand the comment, as Gandal went back to work on his maps. The squirrel attempted to excuse herself, but Gandal spoke up as if he could hear her leaving. "Did I say you can leave?" The squirrel froze and moved to the side, her discomfort continued to rise around Gandal. The rat ranted and raved in what felt like nonsense to her, and wondered how the Long Patrol could ever lose to a creature like him.
"Worse luck, an' damned all to hell! Can't have anything in this blasted forest. Even when I slew that wretch Lorgar, his missus and pup in me paws, I somehow lose both! Both! Even when I go out to raid, the Long Patrol and the wretched Borbon hounds me. Think Gandal. What would Kasg do, eh? I know exactly what he would do, he'd wring Numbat's sly little neck he would! I just need an' army to do it, but there be no army to speak of!" Gandal put his paw to his face, practically scratching it in self harm. Tera could only guess Gandal did this when he was stressed, as he did it quite often in her presence.
At that moment, Jano Whiplash came into the tent, although with a great deal of caution to his step. He stood far enough away from Gandal to not be in grabbing distance, a mistake Gandal was quick to correct.
"Jano, I am not going to yell at ya from across me own tent! Get closer, ya blasted fool."
Jano did, slowly walking up. "Ya. . .Ya asked fer me, sir?"
"Of course I did! Who do you think ask for you? Kasg?!"
"Of course, I am just a dumb and ignorant hordebeast, ain't I sir." Jano gave a weak smile, fearful of Gandal. Now that he was out of bed, his strength returning to him, Jano had many reasons to fear his boss. All of them related to his explosive anger.
"Jano, tomorrow I want you to go out an' start getting the slaves ready for your next building project. I want several barracks, a proper silo, an' a proper slave pen. We need to look formal, an' not like some pit of despair I call me base of operations. Long Patrol ain't moving, but morale is poor as ever. I want to make it look like we know what were doin, an' make it look like we are here to stay. Fool vermin from all over will join up wit me when they realize I am a Kasg's successor, and our foothold in Mossflower is unquestioned."
Jano frowned, the task was daunting "S-sir. That would take a lot of supplies. . .and a lot of sla-"
"What do you mean a lot of slaves, we have a lot of slaves you nitwit!"
"The casualties will be con-"
Gandal looked red eyed with anger and fury "There ain't gonna be casualties, Jano. Der slaves, they are yer responsibility, an if ya be wasten me resources, consider yerself a traitor to Kasg's cause. They work, you make sure dey obey, an if ya run out of able paws, den I will give ya conscripts to help it all along."
Jano looked awkwardly at Gandal and raised his eyebrows with worry. Gandal had never cared much for slaves, but it seemed like the rat still followed Kasg's accursed rules and regulations. Ever the worshipper of the dead warlord, Gandal still kept to his chief's commandments as if they were a religion.
"O-of course, sir. I will start im-"
"You start tomorrow." Gandal sneered. "Our foragers came back with news that our usually contested spots are empty of Long Patrol interlopers, so ya got a season or two to do as I ask. Ya fail me, Jano, an consider yerself joining the ranks of yer own slaves in short order."
Jano gulped and bowed, and then quickly left. Gandal continued to look down at his maps, smiling to himself. When I got a proper army, all of Mossflower will burn with my coming. Kasg, I will avenge you my old friend, one way or another.
Balon was meandering in Camp Palewind, the hare fort which kept an eye on the south much as Tussock kept an eye on the north. Although Tussock was also a settlement for hares, Palewind was not. The hare families lived mostly in the north, and those who were native in the south often had a mixture of family from Southward or beyond. Balon still felt like a vermin amongst a group of monks, awkward and alone. The badger had spent much of his life trying to prove himself as a capable warrior, not only to his family, but himself. His kinship with the Mountain Lord was loose at best, which earned him some manner of respect at least. In reality, far beyond the eyes of fellow badgers, he was less than okay. He had been a loyal subordinate to the camp's commander Numbat for what felt like an eternity. Now, however, Numbat has fallen out of favor with everyone. He overheard hares all around him, their mixed opinions were in hushed tones.
"Bloody ol' Numbat left the field of battle he did, left a bunch of poor folk to be taken by Gandal! Lost a good amount of hares in the process too."
"Aye, he did the blighter. Can't trust good ol' nepotism."
"He did what was right, you lot weren't there. It was a difficult call at a critical point of battle!"
Balon grunted as he passed. He had his opinions, but he still wasn't sure what was the right call. He gut told him to stay, to fight to the bitter end against Gandal and his tyranny. Yet, pragmatism was also on his mind. He wondered if Borbon had made the right call, and that his commander had not. Balon found himself at his commanding officer's quarters and entered, and grimmly strode into Numbat's office, nearly bashing his head once again on the low ceiling.
"Be careful, ol' bean. One of these days, my casualty report will include your dishonorably slaying by my own bloody office." Numbat had said, but was not looking up at him. He was writing letters. A lot of letters in fact, calls and pleas for help. Numbat may have been very cautious, but if anything, he was persistent.
Balon awkwardly sat in his own special chair, made for a giant such as him. "Another stack of letters to send, sir?"
"Yes and yes." Numbat sighed, looking up with a bored but exhausted expression. "I wish I had not stopped drinking, ya know. Would certainly take the edge off."
"I'm ce-"
"Morale is bad enough without every bloody long earned buffoon in this camp thinking their commander is also a drunk, as much as a failure." The mood shifted in the room and Balon went silent.
"Sir, if I may ask. Can we beat Gandal?"
"If I had a bloody army, I could. It would be easy, but the Long Patrol is stretched thin as it is." Numbat lamented "Mossflower is a peaceful land, and we guard that peace to the best of our ability. Bloody hard when half the country, those wretched vermin, think to use that peace to turn our people into slaves. . .or kill them for their shiny goods, wot."
Numbat continued, but his voice strained with frustration "The other trouble is that creatures like Gandal and his master Kasg keep coming down from the north. You know Balon, anything that comes down from the north is bad business for Mossflower? The wild cats were killed by a northern mouse, which freed us for sure, but still bad news for them. Cluny, northerner. The only bloody thing worse comes from the sea. Seasons, I couldn't imagine a time when we peaceful critters weren't at bloomin war. The rotters, the lot of them."
"What takes up so much of the Long Patrol, then? I mean, Kasg is dead, right?"
"Nay, sadly. He is very much alive. His body is dead, but his soul lives on, much to our curse. The north of Mossflower was flooded with vermin from his horde, or survivors of it. Warlords cropped up there, doing what vermin do." Numbat replied, depressed as he was.
"It's a wonder we survive still." Balon cynically replied. Numbat gave a crooked smile "It is. Yet, we live on, and fight on. Wouldn't have any other bloody way, my friend. I think we need a new tactic to fight Gandal, but it won't be popular. That is for certain."
"And that is?"
Numbat paused, as if he didn't wish to say it "I was thinking of making a deal with a couple ol' vermin contacts of mine, some ol' bandits and dociles in Mossflower, employ some mercenaries to beef up our numbers."
"That sounds like a terrible idea" Balon groaned. "Last time we employed mercenaires, they cocked up at the worst possible time, and in the worst way."
"True, but we don't got much other choice. It easier to pay vermin then it i-" He was cut off when the door opened harshly and a young hare came in, saluting quickly and speaking loudly. Numbat arose as he heard what he said.
"Sir! Scouts say the southern hills are bleeding, villages burnt! They found black clad vermin sir! They are killing everyone!"
There was a pause, Numbat normal calm shattered. He yelled out. "Get to the outposts and refugee camps, tell the guards and commanders to be on the lookout for Gandal and his ilk. Balon, you stay here and keep watch for any counter attack. I'll handle this my bloody self." Numbat was swiftly out the door, the voice of alarm amongst the hares. Balon was left alone in the office, wondering if he should have just been a farmer instead.
_
Borbon Rocklore was looking out over a camp in the far out distance, peering down and leaning on his warhammer. What he saw disgusted him. Hundreds of Woodlanders were shoving themselves into an already cramped village with the Long Patrol's help, helpless and confused. They had all just been torn from their homes by a war they should not have been fighting, being failed by an old organization who seemed incapable of fighting a single rat and his cadre of slavers and murderers. Borbon never felt betrayed before, but this was a first. Where he once saw the Long Patrol as friends, now he looked at them with the same contempt he saw in vermin, his eyes shrinking in anger as he saw fellow woodlanders pushing and shoving one another, and some fights already starting over food.
Borbon was joined by a dejected and silent friend, Siegfried. Siegfried was having nightmares of late, of his misfire and the chaos of the battle. He was use lines of battle, facing down an enemy in a neat line, but he could barely look at his crossbow now. He was also anxious, speaking up to Borbon who stood like a statue on the hill they were on, looking over the cramped village below.
"Yus be starun at dur cump fer hours, Burbun. Perhups weuz shuld head uot" Siegfried had said liberally. Borbon was silent, sitting emotionless. "Iz sur culd out hur, frund." Siegfried continued, trying to give a pained smile. Again, Borbon continued not to move, disturbing the mercenary a little. Borbon eventually spoke, but his speech was icy and grim.
"Yus cun go, Sugfrud. I aun't leavun me businessnus wit Gandul just yut. He murdurured Lugar, touk his famuly captive, an made uh fool of me. Duer aun't no hell hut enough fer the luikes of him an' Kusg. I wull bury em' guud an' deup. Don't cure whut dat fool suys, I aun't leavun till he is deud." Borbon gripped his warhammer harshly, as his it were the neck of Gandal himself.
Siegfried sighed and gripped his crossbow. "Weul'z if yuo go, I gu. I owe ya dat much."
Borbon didn't answer, like a shadow he moved onward and put his warhammer on his shoulder. Siegfried got up and followed, and asked loudly.
"Burbon! Whur we'uz goin? Gandul an' hus matues be the uthor way."
"Aye. Duy be at dur cump, but we haedun south, we are. We gonna need hulp, an' it wun't be commin from der Long Patul."
"Hulp? Frum who?"
"Aun uld frund, ya might knuw him whun ya see hum."
Olan was marching ever onward, unsure of his new goal or objective. His vermin came back with limited reports, as Nurf seemed to have properly disappeared. The area of Nurf's murder spree seemed to be south of them, but Olan knew better then to stop. The Long Patrol was likely looking for them now, with Olan unsure if it was Nurf's intention or not. Olan's group passed by a small cliffy rockface, which sloped ever downward into desert on the other side of the trees. Olan tried not to think of that land, Southward, a land full of woodlanders and so few vermin. It would be a nice place to raid, but miserable to set up in. He and his small cadre of soldiers were marching, but something whizzed towards him. Olan instinctively lowered his head and heard a gasp behind him, his leading officer was gripping an arrow in his chest. He gave one final look at Olan and dropped dead, with Olan quickly shouting out.
"Ambush! Ambush!" The vermin sprung to action as four hares jumped out at them, first with bows, and then with rapiers. The Long Patrol looked mad. Very mad, and had every right to be. Three vermin were downed in a moment, with Olan barely able to duel the hare in front of him, shouting and screaming as he slashed at Olan with horrifying force.
"Murdering scum! I'll do twice to you what you did to those villagers, you rotters! Givem blood an' vinigear boys!" Olan was mortified, as slashes were put into his arm by his attacker. Another vermin saved him by charging into the hare in front of him, but Olan knew he was outmatched. Four hares were dispatching his vermin quickly, and he needed to act fast.
"Run ya lot! Run!" Olan cried out, holding up his sword and making a jump down the slope. He dove down a short rockly cliff, and landed with a thud, followed by what few vermin were left. Ducking inbetween trees, the vermin retreated further and further, arrows whizzing past them as they ran. Olan was horrified when he saw one strike down a comrade. They ran faster and faster, with the hares hopping to catch up. Eventually, Olan and his companions were exhausted, facing a larger rocky cliff. He began to hear voices in the far off distance, an all too familiar voice.
"You heard fighting, wot?" came a loud and booming voice, which Olan recognized as Numbat himself. He had figured his attackers were just from a local garrison, but an entire group out here would be impossible to sneak by. He looked to the few vermin he had left, now half strength. They looked to him for guidance, but Olan had none. It was at that moment, Olan felt a furry paw on his shoulder, and a metal object to his throat.
"Me pretty, pretty one. You must come, yes, come silently." Nurf whispered into Olan's terrified ear. Olan could only guess he had a knife to his throat, and was reluctantly pulled towards the cliff. The hell is he doing here?! Olan's mind raced with concern as the vermin of his company reluctantly followed. Nurf lightly snapped his fingers and two of his own hordebeasts appeared behind them, cleaning up debris and sweeping away paw prints. Nurf was giggling like a happy child, his breath stunk of decay. Olan felt himself be pulled into a nearby cave system, surrounded by Nurf's hiding gang of murderers.
Nurf turned Olan around, but kept his knife to the edge of Olan's throat. It pricked his neck, as Olan kept deadly silent, with Nurf peering out of the small cave entrance. Olan looked out himself, hearing voices beyond.
"You lot, whats the matter with you! Why do you looking bloomin exhausted, well, speak up wot!"
"Numbat, sir! We were chasing vermin, the murderers who were. . ." There was a deadly pause. Olan felt bad for the Long Patrol for perhaps the first time in his life, Nurf's evil disgusted even a black hearted wretch like himself. Numbat's voice was raised.
"Then we lost them, to hells with it. They didn't come our way, no doubt doubled back."
"What if they are nearby, sir?"
"We'll have to redouble our tracks then, we have no time to waste. The black clads are incompetent, but hasty." The Long Patrol grumbled to each other, but their voices trailed off. Olan looked to Nurf who looked proud of himself. He turned his attention to Olan, smiling wide.
"Black clads, you surprise me once again? Come to steal me pretties, I do not hope. Ya lot be slavers and conquerors, but I do not hope yer not thieves of me pretties. Would be a shame otherwise."
"Why save us." Olan interjected in a low tone. Nurf smiled gleefully "Does one ever need a reason to help?"
"For the likes of ya, yes." Olan gripped his sword in desperation, sweat from his running and anxiety of facing Nurf was practically drenching him. Nurf pulled his knife down and gave a wide shrug "Oh, it just maken me be thinken, if dey be after you, why give em' the corpses, eh? The real ones, ruins all the fun, my black clad friend."
"To hell with ya, Nurf." Olan spat
Nurf only smiled "Oh, ya wouldn't be so unkind to yer savior if ya were with a real warlord like meself."
Olan wanted to pry further, but his spite did not overcome his wisdom. He looked around at Nurf's murderous gang, who had seemingly been hiding out nearby, for how long Olan could not say. Olan was disturbed, this seemed far less random and a lot more organized then he had suspected from Nurf, and whatever motive he had for saving him and his vermin, Olan did not know. "Whats yer plan in all this, Nurf. Why attack so suddenly, doesn't seem like ya."
"Oh, I be bored sometimes, and me pretties need to be brought back to meet der new playmates of course!" The sentence drilled an icy pick into his spine. He had no love for woodlanders, but what Nurf did to his victims disturbed him. Disgusted him even. Yet his curiosity overcame him "Der be more too it, Nurf, Gandal an' I know ya all too well."
"Oh, I love guessen games! I play em all the time wit me crew. . ." There was a murderous snicker amongst's Nurf's hordebeasts. It didn't take a genius to figure out the prize of winning one of Nurf's games. Or the consequence of losing. Olan did not know which, but he didn't wish to find out.
The two rival vermin kept quiet in the cave, until darkness overtook them in the night. Some movement could be heard, as Nurf himself went out, quietly looking around. Olan could see Nurf in action, his sneaking and his speciality of hiding from the Long Patrol. His feet were light, he moved quickly but nothing he did made a sound. Olan could only guess that Nurf, despite his madness, had enough of a brain to be aware of his own movements. He was invisible, even to the naked eye, and one could easily forget he was even there. Nurf would disappear from the mouth of the cave, and hours later, return from the shadows. The murderous fox was wide awake, and came up close to his companions and whispered.
"Long ears gone, yes yes. We move, and quickly ya friendly fools!" Nurf's gang packed up their things and filed out of the cave, shortly followed by Olan and his vermin. Once in the field, one of Olan's vermin attempted to light a torch, but it was smacked down by Nurf from his paws. Nurf looked murderously at the vermin who froze in fear of him as Nurf's mood swiftly changed.
"Fool! Fool! Idiot! Long ears, be many places. They do not wish Nurf to have his pretties, and if you alert them to me, your screams will haunt their dreams." Olan motioned his vermin to get into a line and readied himself to march. Nurf was off, northward it seemed, and Olan would go the opposite direction. Olan looked on as Nurf went off, unsure of why the murderous fox had saved him, but thankful to be alive regardless. One of Olan's scouts came up to him and whispered.
"I don't like it boss. None of dis feels right."
"Cause it ain't. Were goin back to Gandal. Hopefully the Long Patrol ends that wretch while they meander up here. He'll even do our job for us." Olan however knew deeply in his heart whatever Nurf had planned, he would somehow regret it.
_
Numbat was angry and annoyed. His Long Patrol had somehow lost the black clad murderers who were being chased through the hills, and his team of soldiers were following trails all across the highlands with a cautious step. He had some idea what he was facing, Gandal's black clads if anything were predictable. Their previous attacks culled entire villages, but the cruelty seemed off. It seemed sudden, and wasteful. Yet, his mind was more focused on catching the vermin and delivering onto them swift justice. His anger arose when he remembered the bodies, the terror on their faces, and the viciousness of such things. It reminded him to much of Nurf and his wretched cadre of villains, and Numbat wondered if Nurf had finally donned a black garb in fealty to the dead and cursed warlord of the north. The thought terrified him. Had Gandal been so desperate to conscript Nurf and his murderers into his horde? Had Kasg been alive, the likes of Nurf would have been snuffed out on sight by Kasg and his cronies, the only good aspect Numbat had about the dreaded tyrant. Yet, time is the slayer of many ideals, and Numbat hoped, prayed even, that it was the black clads. No. I am certain of it. This must be one of Gandal's maneuvers, a distraction no doubt. He must be regathering his strength again, and is keeping us exhausted hunting his cullers.
Numbat and his hares retraced their steps, following a path of destruction, but was confused when his scouts came back with two separate pairs of tracks. One was far more hidden than the others, as if purposefully placed to follow. Numbat and his officers followed the less obvious trail to the cliffs where the vermin had been ambushed, but then decided to double back and follow the more obvious trail. The hares hoped to perhaps catch a smaller group who might have been used as bait. The hares followed the trail, but soon stopped at the edge of a large and thick forest whose branches choked out the sun, creating a blackness in the forest ahead of them. Numbat cursed under his breath.
"Dammit."
"Something the matter, sir?" One of the hares looked to his commanding officer with concern.
"Maybe, but keep close. Just in case. That is. . .his. . .territory. Keep an eye on the trees, chaps."
The younger hares looked to each other as if Numbat had gone mad, but the older ones in Numbat's company were ever cautious. As they climbed the hills, the hares fanned out and began to look around. Numbat still would walk as if he was walking to his office, his paws clasped behind his back in a dignified manner. Soon, the light of a camp could be seen, and there was a rush of howling and yelling. One of the hares with a bow came up, one of the marksbeasts that Numbat had still, looking up at the small illumination in the distance.
"Vermin, sir. A fox I think, wearing black."
"Ya sure they are wearing black?"
"No doubt. Should I take the shot, sir?"
"No, we investigate this lot first, my ol' boy."
"Sir?" The marksbeast looked mortified and concerned to his commander. They were hunting for murderers, not talking them down. Yet Numbat still went on, as the yells died down and the hares surrounded the camp. They found a clan of foxes, miserably and quickly trying to hide some stuff away, pretending they didn't see the hares. Their elder, draped in a nice warm black jacket, was sitting around his campfire, puffing his pipe. The elderly fox gave a mean eye to Numbat as he briskly walked into the camp, his grim expression looking down on the fox family, as if completing something horrible.
"Mornin, long ears." The elder fox puffed up. "Whacha want."
The other foxes looked to hide weapons, but the other hares could quickly notice. Yet, they were hiding them, not reaching for them. One of the angry hares came forward, and lifted up a small hovel of sticks, and knocked it over, revealing a couple swords, a hatchet, and some small bows and arrows. The angry hare looked over them, looking for something.
"Hey! Dat ain't yers to touch!" One of the foxes came over, but was answered by a rapier aimed for his throat by one of the hares. The elder fox called out to his brood "Let'em look em over, ya half wits. No need to be spillin blood."
"I thought we talked about this, you and your brood were not to have weapons." Numbat chided him "Soldier, is there blood on those weapons?"
"They could have cl-"
"No then?"
The hare sighed and let down the weapons and then angrily kicked the dirt. The elder noticed the tenseness of the hares, it was unnatural for the Long Patrol to be this mad. Not unless something happened. The elder turned to Numbat and gave a weak smile "Hungry? Got pancakes cookin, mate. Haven't seen ya in quite awhile, somethin happenen I takes it?"
"Something did happen, although I am deciding if you are involved or not."
The fox puffed his pipe and looked to Marig who was near him. "Go grab'em." He then turned his attention back to Numbat, who was looking all over. His scouts were dumbfounded, their tracks led to the camp, but then those same tracks disappeared. The scouts relayed this information in whispers to their boss, but Numbat felt he should know better. Marig came out of the converted merchant wagon with three frightened squirrel children, whom looked utterly shocked to see an entire division of Long Patrol surrounding them. One of the local garrison hares came forward, practically spitting "Those are Gasgon's children! Murderers!" The hare drew his rapier, but the foxes took out weapons themselves. There was a panic, but Numbat cried out "Hold your weapons! You lot! Hold!" He came forward to the elder fox, who didn't seem surprised. He spoke up once those around him became silent.
"My son, Nosrig, was out explorin. He brought des three to our camp. I figured somethin had happened."
"How do I know your son or you weren't the murderers."
"Ya think I'd risk it? Me brood not exactly wishen fer der own death, long ears. Besides, I left dat life ages ago." The local hares came over and scooped up the children and brought them to a safe distance. The hares and foxes continued to stare at each other, as if waiting for their superiors to give the orders to attack, yet neither did.
One of the hares perked up "New loyalties I take it, wot?"
"Whacha mean?" The elder replied, sneering.
"The black clothes you rotters are all wearing. Those are Kasg's colors, and thus Gandal's."
The elder fox only puffed his pipe, raising an eyebrow. The fox looked to Numbat for help, as he honestly did not know either of those names. It became quite clear after a long silence, that the foxes had no clue who either vermin were, much to their increasing dismay. Numbat sighed and broke the silence "A former warlord and current one. Both had been cancers in Mossflower, and we call them black clads. We are chasing a group of them, and to be honest, you are looking more and more the suspect."
"Oh." The elder fox had a revelation, and cursed under his breath "I see. Ya think me brood or me be involved wit some murders of squirrels, eh?"
"Try several hamlets." One hare grunted. Nearly all the foxes except their elder looked surprised and concerned. One of the hares, the local garrison hare who was guarding the squirrel children came up and whispered into his ear. Numbat shook his head "Maybe it was Nosrig, perhaps?"
There was a short chuckle from some of the foxes in the crowd. The hares didn't find it funny as the one who whispered to Numbat raised his voice to them. "Woodlanders are dead, and you laugh! Sir, these foxes are as guilty as any, clearly aiding Gandal and his whole bloody horde!"
The elder smirked "Nosrig is paid heavily to protect villages, if ya don't recall long ears. He taken lives before, but not woodlander. Ya remember the Backbum boys?"
"How can I not, rotters haven't been seen in-"
The elder fox pointed to two small lumps nearby, with no markers other then small hills. "Nosrig wouldn't hurt much of a fly if der woodlanders told em. Ya can ask the village of Pancher if ya don't believe me."
"That means nothing, vermin." The hare continued to debate, his mind already made up. Numbat held his paw and pushed the infuriated officer back, still unsure. He had just been told that it was a fox who murdered the squirrels parents, the officer improperly interrogating the shaking children.
"We have a witness. Says it was a fox, wot. Where is your son Nosrig by chance?"
The elder of squirrel children spoke up, afraid but wishing to correct what was going to happen. He spoke as loud as he could, but it sounded like a small peep. "It-It wasn't dem foxes, sirs. Dey are they other foxes." The garrison hare came over and knelt by them, and further inquired. There was a short conversation, and a long pause. Numbat's stomach churned, and he looked dead eyed as he turned his attention back to a proud looking elder bandit. Numbat began to realize something as he spoke up, his voice ever more serious then before.
"Ol bean. Who gave you those jackets?"
"An Ol' mate, tho I desire not to call'em that."
Numbat cringed horribly and his eyes widened with realization, and horror. The worst had come to pass, and he realized he had been duped. He turned to two hares and muttered quickly "Take these children back to the fort, and hunker down. Tell Balon to send reinforcements to the village Banzlow, as many hares as he can send. Now. Go." The hares were swift, scooping up the squirrel children and hopping back to Palewind as quick as they could. Numbat turned to his hares, drawing his blade and yelled "We aren't hunting black clads, its Nurf. Nurf Bloodkeep. I have no doubt of his intentions. . .we sent refugees to the village of Banzlow. We need to move, and move quickly!"
The elder fox and his brood looked as the hares panicked and rushed ever northward, with the vermin looking a bit dumbfounded. Those who were older knew why they rushed, they knew Nurf all too well. The elder fox huffed on his pipe. He took off his black jacket, a gift from a former hordebeast, and casually put it into the fire. He regretted the day he ever met that young and strange fox.
_
Nurf was happy.
He and his gang had never had such luck in their entire lives, as the vermin looked on from the bushes like hungry wolves at the small woodlander village of Banzlow. Nurf was confident he had tricked the Long Patrol into killing the old fool of a fox, and licked his lips at the thought of his entire brood falling beneath hare blades. Such bloodshed filled Nurf with glee, and his horde was staring out over such a blump prize. Nurf had gotten word, or more accurately he had tortured that word, out of one of the woodlanders of the small 'changes' Numbat had ordered. The hares were stuffing a group of woodlanders into a mouse's village, most having set up tents and carried with them a nice haul. Nurf could see from a distance children playing, his eyes transfixed upon them like a hawk. His smile grew ever more bigger.
"Many pretties down there, but Long Ears as well. Fours I thinks, right? Fours."
"Two." Goran correct his boss "Look chief, those two long ears? Rabbits. Different all together, easy pickings."
"So many, yes. So many." Nurf seemed gitty. Goran smiled with a vicious and wide grin, happy to see his chief so happy. Nurf was proud of his recent interloping in the southern hills, and felt blessed to have his scouts spot the likes of an all too familiar rat and his cadre of black clads. Nurf's plan had not changed much, his distraction of the Long Patrol put the ever duped hares far behind him.
"Goran. You takes the back end, get me my pretties, yes. They need them, Goran. I need them. The rest of you, follow closely. We will sneak up on the Long Patrol while they are busy. We will slice them. Dice them. Stab'em. Keep killing, keep burning, give them no chance to fight back or regroup. Just like before, just like we practice. Kill them. Kill them. Ki-" Nurf trailed off, quietly leaping out of the bushes. His gang obeyed, their bloodthirst rising as they got ever closer.
Nurf is happy.
_
Numbat was panting, his hares rushing through the forests either far ahead of him or far behind. They did not care for formation, they mission would take them to a breaking point. They kept rushing, kept running, and he could not stop. He had to arrive before he did, and his mind raced. Nurf, that degenerate bounder! I will have his hide strapped to my walls in due course! Numbat always felt it was a personal failing of never being able to find Nurf and his murderous horde, they lived near the lake he was only certain of that. The fox had a history of violence the moment he ended up on Numbat's mind, a vicious murderer who disappeared entire hamlets every other season, and never attacked in one place. The terror he felt at what would happen if he was too late filled him with determination, he forgot to breath beneath his jacket, his sword in paw and ready to strike down that wretch. That torturer. That murderer.
Then he smelled it.
It was smoke, the fumes were flying like clouds through the forest, and Numbat sped ever onward. He cursed himself, spiteful of what was already likely happening in that village. He hated how Nurf could so easily slip away, a lifetime spent avoiding the Long Patrol and getting away with it. The hares drew pace, their swords and spears outstretched and ready for murderous action against a hated foe. The smoke grew ever darker until the illumination could be seen beyond the trees and fields.
Numbat rushed, nearly stabbing his feet as he continued onward in desperation, until he was finally on the hill. He stopped.
They were too late.
They were far too late.
A silence hung over the burning village of Banzlow, the misshapen bodies all around it like specks on a tapestry. If Nurf was an artist, this was his masterpiece of terror. The Long patrol slowed to a crawl, looking around for survivors as Numbat dropped his sword and grew closer to a great bonfire that was the village. In defeat he dropped to his knees and looked onward, hate and spite boiling within him as he could not take his eyes off what he was seeing. The bodies were everywhere, they were beyond counting.
Numbat did not need to give orders to his Long Patrol, his scouts fanning out in all directions to look for signs of the vermin's trail, but could not find any. Their sorrowful report was given to a silent hare, unable to unfix his eyes from Banzlow whose smoke bloomed out far and wide.
"We are not going back to Palewind, not yet anyway. Send a runner to Balon, tell him to gather the hares and do a wide search for Nurf and his rabble. The rotter. . ." Numbat paused, finally looking away. "Get your things ready, comrades. We are going to Anzbol, near the marshes. We need to reinforce the garrisons, build defenses."
"Sir. . ." One hare asked "The bodies."
"We have no time, recruit. Nurf has escaped again. Any moment we delay will mean he will be tempted to strike again. We will come back once we know full well the villages are safe."
The hares bowed their heads, but were all in agreement. Packing their things, Numbat gave one last terrified look at the terrible sight he beheld. It would haunt him, for all time he thought. He gritted his teeth, tears rolling down his eyes in disgust. Gandal can bloody well wait. I am going to strangle that fox till he answers for the sin that is his life.
The night beyond the marshes was lonesome, as Loy and Pelo were fast asleep. The small group was being watched over by Eskert, his mind fluttering with thoughts. He wondered if perhaps he had gone too far. His thought turned to that stout he slew for once, and a regret washed over him. He could not stop thinking, but as the night grew darker and the campfire fizzled out, Eskert was tapped on the shoulder by Lufan who was yawning. "Your turn to sleep, Eskert." Eskert nodded, giving a weak smile. He got up and shifted over to a small bramble of leaves which had to act like beds. Eskert wondered if Elain would have approved of his behavior of late, her pacifism would always remind him of why he left the village militia to start his own family. He was tired of battle, even if it was in his element. That stout, he would have sold us for vittles, I have no doubt. Yet. . .would he have gotten the chance? What he was good at heart, and I killed him for what I thought he might do. Good seasons, no, I couldn't have done wrong? Could I? Did I do the right thing? Certainly the most pragmatic thing. Eskert stopped thinking, his train of thought went over to what the stout had said earlier when he introduced himself. It was simple logic, but it made sense, he would still be a prisoner by the end of the day, and had no reason to trust him. Eskert began to sleep, his eyes shut tight.
Blackness overtook him, but from the blackness a gray stillness began to creep up from his eyes. He felt light, as he found himself dreaming. It was no normal dream, he could feel a still air about him, a calm breeze. He was on a gray boat, beneath gray water, drifting to a black forest in the far off distance. There was a pier there, and awaiting him was a lone figure.
Eskert's small boat drifted to this pier and stopped at the edge of it. Instinctively, Eskert climbed out of the small boat and went to greet the figure. He then saw him.
A mouse.
With a mighty sword, standing like an illuminating sun over the whole of the forest. He peered down at Eskert, who was smaller than he was. To Eskert, he knew who he was, the mighty spirit himself. It must have been, Martin the Warrior was in his dreams. He was in awe of him as the spirit spoke with a soothing, but yet condescending voice.
"You come to the realm beyond life, Eskert, but I do not draw you here to toll your passing. Nay, for there is a great scar over the lands of Mossflower, I have come to grant you a gift. The gift of truth." Eskert looked into Martin's eyes, they were entirely red. He didn't remember that part of the stories, but his eyes were soon transfixed upon Martin's sword so freely given to him.
"You must find my sword, good warrior. You must find it and do what must be done to save Mossflower from the evil that comes to destroy it."
"Yes. . ." Eskert said, feeling invigoration coursing through him. He took the sword, examining it in his paws.
"You must kill them. All of them, Eskert." The spirit quickly said, taking back his sword "You must find my sword. The abbey beasts know where it is hidden. Your allies come from the south, baring sword and pike to your aid."
Martin's voiced almost chafed, as if something darker and nefarious, a spite beneath it. Eskert could only conclude what he spoke of. The vermin, he must kill the vermin.
All of them.
Eskert looked to his paws, the sword gone as the spirit pointed to his boat "You have your orders, mouse. Go forth, and rid Mossflower of its taint. Forever."
Eskert turned, but saw another figure on the dock. It was the stout he had killed, gripping his wound. Yet, to Eskert's eyes he looked to be standing like a statue, looking down with concern at him. It beckoned to him. "Do not listen to that dread spirit, Eskert. He leads you astray, he blinds you to what you cannot see yourself." The stout spoke like a woodlander, yet his image only filled Eskert with hate. He had just been commanded by Martin the Warrior himself, to rid Mossflower of its enemies. He would do as ordered, rid the enemy from Mossflower for all time, so none would face what he had faced. He went towards the boat, the stout's spirit spoke again.
"If you leave to do as you are blinded to, your sorrow will be beyond counting."
Eskert pushed the figure out of the way and entered the boat, not listening to another word. The red eyed spirit of Martin grimmly smiled, and watched from afar. He left, leaving Eskert to delve back into the gray mists from whence he came.
Suddenly, Eskert awoke, much to Lufan's surprise.
"Bad dream I take it?"
"No. Lufan. I am a warrior. I am the Warrior of Redwall."